


Heart Eyes and Hot Mics

by mother_finch



Category: Person of Interest (TV)
Genre: F/F, Gen, mother-finch fiction
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-04-01
Updated: 2015-04-01
Packaged: 2018-03-20 16:26:28
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,944
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/3657156
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/mother_finch/pseuds/mother_finch
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>PROMPT: Can you write a fanfic about Shaw x Root having an established relationship and always forgetting to turn their coms off when flirting and talking about their sexual activities :)))</p>
            </blockquote>





	Heart Eyes and Hot Mics

"You ready to go?" Shaw asks, leaning against the far wall of her apartment, arms crossed. Her hair is tied up in a tight ponytail, and her outfit is black pants with a black shirt.

"Almost," a woman's voice calls back from the bathroom.

"We're going to be late,"Shaw warns, clicking her ear wig into place. She turns it on, adjusting it to the right frequency.

The bathroom door opens, and Root walks out in a half-dressed, hair tangled mess. Seeing her, Shaw straightens up, hands coming down to her sides. She keeps her eyes on Root's face, trying hard not to look anywhere else. Root's feet are shoe-less, white socks padding across the cold floor, and she has on a button down shirt, with not a single one done. She brushes her hair as she walks, struggling with an unruly knot. Eyes coming forward, she spots Shaw and smiles.

"You can't blame me," she says in a light, warning tone. " _This_ ," she gestures to her hair, "is  _your_  fault." Shaw's eyes narrow in dismay, but she remains silent.

* * *

 

"Isn't this the shirt you wore  _yesterday_?" Shaw asks, the slightest amusement crossing her serious tone as she pushes off the wall, coming towards her. Her eyes smirk, and Root can't help but stare into them. With a confirmatory smile, Root untangles the knot, then continues to brush her hair as Shaw comes to a stop before her. She grabs each side of the shirt, pulling them even, and begins to button them. Shaw works at keeping her movements smooth, trying not to let the racing in her chest rattle her fingers. Root barely breathes, bringing the brush down to her side as she watches Shaw affectionately.

"Thanks, Sweetie," she coos, pleased at the simple tone in her voice- not giving away a single butterfly, whilst her eyes are radiant and glowing. Shaw brings her hands down, and without looking at Root, turns towards the door.

 _Calm down_ , she instructs herself heatedly, taking in a slow breath. From the hall, she hears Root's soft footsteps grow close. There is a hand on her shoulder from behind, and Root leans down, slipping on her shoes. Like a statue Shaw stands, not daring to move. Standing back up, Root lets go of Shaw, who instantly reanimates. Grabbing the handle of the door, she pulls it open.

"We're gonna have to go to my place tonight," Root says, stopping in the doorway with a smirk, eyes intense as she looks at Shaw. "I'm out of clothes here."

"Clothes aren't  _really_  the point," Shaw counters, and Root raises her eyebrows in pleasant surprise.

"I'm starting to wonder if you didn't mean for me to be on the line." Shaw freezes, hearing the voice. Root's eyes flicker, hearing it too, and a sweet smile replaces her previous expression.

"Morning, Harry, didn't know you were here." Her voice is sincere, but Shaw can see the smug amusement in her eyes as they head out the door.

_______\ If Your Number's Up /_______

Coming into the subway station, Shaw and Root see a full house. Harold is at his computer typing, John's petting Bear, and Lionel is cleaning his gun. Shaw gives a short whistle, and Bear gallops over, tail wagging and tongue lolling. Shaw kneels down, smile on her face, as she runs her hands through his fur affectionately.

"Well, we know where  _his_  loyalty lies," John says humorously, but Shaw merely ignores him. Bear sits, eyes closed in bliss, as she rubs him behind the ears.

"Hello,  _Handsome_ ," she coos affectionately. His tail thumps on the tile ground as he opens his eyes to look at her.

"Why do you never greet  _me_  like that?" Root asks playfully, and Shaw rolls her eyes. Standing, Bear comes to his feet beside her, trailing at her side as she walks forward.

"What are we doing today?" Shaw asks Harold, seeing no real hustle in anyone's movement.

"So far, no-" He stops, brow furrowing, and steals back to his computer. Root comes to Shaw's side, putting her hand on Shaw's shoulder and chin atop that. Shaw feels a tingle trace down her spine, and tries desperately to ignore it. "I take that back," he says, eyes scanning hungrily across the computer screen. "Two numbers..." He types rapidly, fingers seeming almost robotic. "A Mr. and Mrs. Hershel."

"What are they in for?" Lionel asks, standing up from his seat and stowing away his weapon.

"Nothing fun, I presume," Harold replies, heart not truly in the comment; he's too busy reading the screen. "You can find  _him_  on the fifty-second floor at 270 Park Avenue.  _Her_  at 49 East on 52nd Street- she's a secretary there."

"I've always wanted to go to a studio building," Root chimes in pleasantly; Shaw rolls  her eyes.

"Yeah, maybe you'll become  _famous_  or something," she growls with sarcasm, feeling Root's face pull up in a smile beside her.

"Well, we'll take Mr. Hershel, then," John says, his words coming out in a sigh. "Hope you're not afraid of heights, Lionel." Fusco shoots him a cross look, coming to his side. Together, the four walk out, hitting the pleasantly warm spring air.

"Who's ever heard of a  _nice_  day in New York?" Lionel asks, laughing alone at his own joke. At the end of the block, both parties veer off. John and Lionel swing a tight turn to the left, while Shaw and Root continue forward for several blocks. All around, people seem to be filled with life. They've shed their iron cast jackets for free-spirited tee shirts, and discarded their shackles of snow boots for liberating sneakers. A few bikers whiz by, sunglasses reflecting the suns rays in a variety of orange colors. Everything, for the day, emerges from gray hibernation.

"So, any plans for tonight?" Root asks casually as they wander down the sidewalk. Shaw looks over to her, and Root smiles. "I  _mean_ , besides- you  _know_." Shaw feels her cheeks growing warm, and not from the sun. Shaking her head slightly, she looks away, out at the lively city.

"You?"

"No," Root replies. "But I could come up with a few things." Shaw can feel Root's eyes smoldering into the side of her face, and she finally gives in, turning her eyes back to Root.

" _Like_..?" Root smirks, shrugging her shoulders with a secretive air.

"I'll let you know when I think of them," she replies mysteriously, tilting her head down at Shaw. Shaw gives her a dark, half smile. "It'll be a real party, though."

"Party? Can we come?" Shaw's smile drops into stiff mortification, jaw setting as her pupils dilate, hearing John's voice through the earwig.

"Yeah, I'll bring soda and Twister," Fusco cuts in, only adding to Shaw's dread.

"Can you even  _play_  Twister, Lionel?" John asks with amusement in his voice. Shaw can practically hear the indignant sneer on Fusco's face.

"What about you, Glasses? You in?"

 _Oh no_ , Shaw thinks, mind reeling like sparrows on crack behind a closed off face.  _If he's here too I'll-_

"Sorry, Detective, but I have papers to grade." Shaw closes her eyes, beyond the point of coherent thought, every ounce of energy going into maintaining her composure.

"Not trying to disappoint you," Root says with mock sympathy, "but this is a girls only get-together." Shaw can see the smug smirk on her face, loving every second of this.

"Perhaps the two of you should consider a private line?" Harold suggests, causing Shaw to stiffen.  _This is the second time today_ , she remembers, ears reddening.

"And miss up on talking to you boys?" Root responds. "Not a chance."

" _You're_  doing most of the talking," John informs her, and a toothy smile breaks onto her face. Root and Shaw turn down 52nd Street, Shaw searching for the building while Root speaks. Anything to stay out of this conversation.

"I can drop the game off for you, if you want?" Fusco offers, and John's low, rumbling laughter wells in the microphone.

"They don't need a mat and spinner for the Twister  _they're_  playing."

"Oh  _look_ ," Shaw says, ready to snap. "We're  _here_. Better go now." Snapping off her ear piece, she stalks towards the old, white stone building atop of a red, brick pharmacy.  _So this is CBS Studios,_  she thinks to herself, tearing open the door heatedly.  _For some reason I expected it to be more glamorous._

_____________\ We'll Find You /____________

They storm into the pharmacy, then take the side-well stairs two at a time until they barge into a lobby. A deserted lobby. There is a blood trail on the ground, leading to a pair of elevators on the far wall. Quickly, they stalk over, drawing their guns. They can hear the elevator dinging repeatedly, doors closing and opening over and over. When they get there, they see a man in a suit, head slumped against the wall with his torso across the ground. His left leg sticks straight out, and the elevator doors hit it, bouncing open each time. His white shirt is stained deep red, the suit jacket bloated from all the blood absorbed in it. Moving away, they look for an emergency set of stairs.  _Something's missing.._. Shaw thinks, walking off.

"Root, over here," Shaw beckons, and Root jogs back to the front, seeing Shaw's body half out of a metal door. She shoves it open, and the two clamber up the steps, footsteps echoing like a minefield on their steel surface.

Up and up they travel, passing by people rushing past them, yelling.  _And there it is. The people._ It was a ghost town before, but now workers come in waves, head sets and microphones attached to their collars. Some bring camcorders, others brief cases, none noticing anything off about the women. "What are you running from?" Root shouts to a group of men, but they only push her to the side, running like scared cattle for the exit. She clutches the railing tightly, body thrown hard enough to tip over the edge- down three stories.

Another wave rushes by, and Shaw grabs a woman at the elbow, yanking her from the throng. She yelps in astonishment, then shrieks, seeing the gun.

"What the Hell are you all running from," Shaw demands, eyes deadly. The woman reeks with fear, eyes darting around Shaw's face worriedly.

"Th-there- there's g-g-g-gun men-n on th- the top-p f-f-fl-loor." Shaw pushes her away, and she stumbles, but recovers quickly as she scampers down the staircase. Root comes up to meet Shaw, and with a ready nod, they both start up the stairs again, a four story climb.

Shaw kicks open the metal door, and Root flies out, guns pointing at either end of the hall. No one. There is a scream from somewhere within the floor, and the shooting of a gun.

"Two paths, one shot," Shaw says, eyes scanning for options. "I'll go right."

"Don't forget to-"

Shaw clicks on her earwig. "Taken care of." Root sends a dashing smile her way before heading off, guns out and ready to fire. Shaw watches her go, round the corner, unable to help her admiration. Shaking her head clear, Shaw brings herself to battle mode, heading down the right hallway with her weapon at the ready. She rounds the corner, eyes fatal, as she checks the cubicles that rein in this wing of the building. There are more gunshots, and the sound of a body hitting the floor. Through the center wall, Shaw can hear footsteps on a ladder, then the screeching of a trap door.

"Sweetie, you there?"

"I'm here," Shaw replies, voice nearly a whisper as her eyes search. "I just heard someone go onto the roof."

There is gunfire through Root's com. "That would be me," she replies in a pleased tone. Shaw smirks, taking a right at the next split. "Any sign of our number?"

"Not yet," Shaw replies. "Whoever she is, she must be important to have  _this_  many people after her."

"Not so much important as wanted," Harold chimes in. "It appears Mrs. Hershel has a history of illegal bank transfers, and her husband is no better."

"The things people will do for money," Root replies, and bullets grind against metal. Shaw hears a muffled scream, and turns to a large conference room. Pulling open the heavy door, a man aims a large weapon at her. She shoots him down easily, walking into the room. On the ground, she sees a woman with dirty blonde hair matted to her head, frighted green eyes, and terrified sweat sparkling on her brow.

"i just found Mrs. Hershel," Shaw informs them, stowing away her gun as she comes forward. She sees something that makes her stomach sink, but ignores it- for now. Crouching down, Shaw removes the gag from her mouth, and Mrs. Hershel sucks in a large breath.

"You have to  _help_  me!" She begs, eyes near tears. "I don't want to  _die_!"

 _Should have thought about that before you laundered money,_  Shaw thinks to herself, but keeps in within. "What is she talking about?" Root asks, questioning in her voice. "Aren't you with her? Why would she-"

"Bomb vest," Shaw replies, finally admitting it to herself. She couldn't ignore its ugly face any longer. A large vest packed in C4, sparkers littering it like Christmas lights, all attached together, feeding into a wire that leads to Mrs. Hershel's hand. The detonator is wedged between her fingers, her knuckles pale from gripping it so tight.

"He forced me to do this," Mrs. Hershel says tearfully, ready to unravel. She sees her thumb pressed firmly down on the detonator.  _A dead man's switch._  "He pushed my thumb down and told me not to-"

"Hey," Shaw says authoritatively, making her stop. "You're going to be fine. But, I need you to stay calm, okay?"

" _Shaw_..." Root's voice comes into her ear, filled with concern, and traced with an underlying message:  _don't do it._  Shaw ignores her, grabbing the woman's hand. She puts her thumb down over the number's, then slowly begins to pull the woman's hand away with her free one. Then, in a flash, she pulls Mrs. Hershel's hand off, making sure hers is pressed all the way down. She waits. Nothing happens.

"I want you to carefully slip this off over your head," Shaw instructs in a calm tone, and Mrs. Hershel obeys. Shaw looks at her, eyes neither kind nor compassionate. "Now run." Overcome with a new level of terror, Mrs. Hershel comes to shaky feet, then sprints off on jello legs.

"Sameen," Root's voice is nervous but demanding. "What's going on."

"Well, Root," Shaw says in a relaxed tone, feeling surprisingly comfortable. The adrenaline in her veins feels like home, and the task at hand is a welcome challenge. "We have two options: One; on my count, we jump from this building as it blows sky high- probably dying in the process. Two, you secure the place long enough for me to disarm this thing."

"Will you be able to?"

Shaw smirks. "We'll find out."

With that, she begins evaluating the wires, deciding which to cut and which to spare. She slides a knife from her boot, right hand cramping from her grip on the detonator. She hears voices in the hall, and the sound of firing rifles. Everything around her seems to dull as she forces all of her focus into this contraption.  _It's either this one or this one_ , she thinks to herself, eyeing up a black and a red cable.  _Red always seems to work in the movies,_  she decides with a laugh in her side, and she cuts the wire in two. Nothing happens.

_Three_

_Two_

_One_

She drops the switch, letting it clatter to the ground. When there is no explosion, she lets out a breath she hadn't known she was holding. From behind her, the door swings open, and a man with a handgun barges in. Before Shaw can grab her gun, he aims.

" _Pop!"_ There is a guttural moan as he drops to the ground, a red flower blooming in his chest. Shaw looks up from his body and sees Root in the door way, guns raised.

"Cutting it a little close, don't you think?" Shaw teases with a grin, standing.

"Gotta make things interesting," Root responds, stowing away her weapons. "Speaking of  _interesting_ ," she says as Shaw walks over to her. "This was  _almost_  as fun as last night." Shaw rolls her eyes, but her smile remains, and they head to the stairwell. Shaw can feel Root's eyes on her and stops, turning to face her fully. She watches as Root looks her up and down with interested eyes.

"What," Shaw demands, slightly defensive. Root gives a short, mellifluous laugh in return.

"Just wondering how long I can wait before I-"

"I can still hear you both," Harold interrupts, not caring to hear the rest of Root's answer.

"Whadayou say we all agree to use a different channel, and just leave the Love Birds out of the loop," Lionel suggests, apparently listening in as well.

"What would you  _ever_  do if you didn't get to hear  _us_  all day?" Root asks him sweetly, starting to walk once more.

"Oh, I don't know, rest easy at night knowing I won't be hearing  _that_  at two a.m.?"

"All work and no play isn't healthy for you, Lionel," Root says with a humored smile.

From their place opposite of town, John and Lionel share a mixed array of looks. "Listen," he says, becoming slightly flustered. "Play all you want, but please,  _not_  on the phone."


End file.
